An End And A Beginning

6: They Do Not Seem To Believe In Their Good Fortune

Draco spent the afternoon outside, desperately trying not to think about Potter. He found he couldn't help it. He wondered about how Potter had taken the ring—he'd tried to give it back. Did he take it as a courtship gift too? Was that a rejection of Draco's heart? Or was it too soon after his father's death? It seemed that Draco's feelings had developed fast and hit hard... maybe that was the case to an outsider but Draco knew his feelings had always simmered below the surface. But this Potter; the Potter with his rugged broken nose and his Auror coat with his hidden muscles, the Potter who stood discreetly in the shadows at the right time, and hugged him just when he needed it, and gave him perfectly folded monogrammed handkerchiefs; this was the Potter he dreamed of and wanted with his entire soul. He wanted him back beside him right now, just so they could talk about nonsense and be together. Potter got his sense of humour... all that silliness about the kidnapping him and holding him prisoner in the Wine Dungeon...

Draco smiled.

It would forever be the Wine Dungeon now, even if Potter didn't stay in his life.

He thought of Potter stood in the gloom amongst all that wine, studying the Tiger's Eye ring, slipping it onto his finger...

His middle finger on his right hand...

The 'gay' finger...

Draco wondered if Potter knew that too.

He sighed, knowing it was probably all bollocks anyway. People interpreted these symbols all differently anyway and people wore rings where they wanted, gay or straight. It was just about what was comfortable for the individual. His father was a case in hand. Draco was just searching for symbolism as a way to place himself in a world he was excluded from.

He turned to head back to the Manor. Only to see Potter striding towards him purposely, his long Auror coat flapping around his legs.

'Potter,' he drawled, trying to calm his beating heart. 'You can't seem to stay away. Obviously it's my magnetism that keeps drawing you back.'

Potter smiled a lopsided sheepish smile. It was a different smile to the little sympathetic quirks and the teasing smiles or hilarious grins. Draco found himself wanting to understand all those different smiles and their exact meanings.

'Thought we agreed on "Harry"?'

'Yeah but it's force of habit.'

They stepped close to each other, like they couldn't help themselves.

'Luna sends her condolences, she's sent some flowers to your mother so I brought them over. She and Xenophilius would be honoured to come to the funeral.'

Draco sighed. 'I need to put on refreshments then.'

'I can help.'

Draco snorted dismissively.

'I'm actually a good cook,' Potter said, slightly indignantly.

He raised an eyebrow. 'Of course you are, is there anything you're not perfect at?' Draco said tetchily. He knew he was on edge. Mostly he was put out by his thoughts of Potter and not knowing where he stood and because he was embarrassed about giving him the ring and how that could have been interpreted.

'Right!' said Potter. 'Tonight, I'm cooking.'

'What?'

'You heard. Tonight, I'm going to cook for you and your mother. Seeing as you don't believe me.'

'I do believe you. That's the bloody problem. You too fucking unbelievably good at everything sometimes.'

'Not everything. Are you okay, Draco? Has something happened?'